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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777416">For the Brokenhearted</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealRedRaven/pseuds/TheRealRedRaven'>TheRealRedRaven</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stray Kids (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Idols, Anger, Angry Bang Chan, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Bang Chan is Bad at Feelings, Bang Chan is a Mess, Break Up, F/M, Heartbreak, Idol Bang Chan, Inspired by Music, Loneliness, Post-Break Up, Sad, Sad Bang Chan, Sad Ending, Short, Short One Shot, Tragedy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:41:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>911</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777416</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealRedRaven/pseuds/TheRealRedRaven</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Music can heal. Music can mend your soul.</p>
<p>And it’s the only thing that I know.</p>
<p>Or thought I knew because eventually it drove her away. So now all I can listen to is one specific genre.</p>
<p>The songs for the brokenhearted.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bang Chan &amp; Reader, Bang Chan &amp; You, Bang Chan/Reader, Bang Chan/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>For the Brokenhearted</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I know this day is to celebrate the best koala leader and wolf dad, but it would be a lie to say that Chan’s scenes in the B Me music video did not inspire this and the mini-series it has sparked.</p>
<p>Dear Bangchan,</p>
<p>I hope the day is bright and filled with lots of love (and food) despite the current state of the world. Thank you for inspiring me again and again, turning me into a gooey marshmallow that talks her friends’ ears off about you when not putting Ed Sheeran and all the other amazing songs you have recommended to STAY on repeat.</p>
<p>That marshmallow part is weird... I am weird. Just... just ignore it.</p>
<p>Anyways, thank you for being there and keep up the incredible work. I am so proud of you.</p>
<p>P.S: Do you ever wonder if the stars shine out for you?</p>
<p>If you don’t, at least the moon is beautiful, isn’t it? I think I can die happily.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Music has the power to evoke emotions, to give rise to memories and confess in ways mere casual words cannot. This is why sharing playlists is a splendid way to say all the things that would otherwise remain unspoken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That is how I confessed to her, sending her a list of all the songs that reminded me of her. Later, I gave her one I created late at night despite her nagging texts telling me to go to bed, those little messages she firmly acted herself on when she came over. Many a night has she literally pulled me from my studio, not minding the fact she’s wearing her jammies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She just wanted to go home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To sleep and wake up the next day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The list started with ‘Tenerife Sea’, which was followed later by ‘Lego House’ and ended with ‘Wake Me Up’. Maybe a bit generic, but she’s started to listen to Ed Sheeran a lot more thanks to me and his lyrics told her all the things I never managed to do flawlessly. After all, I had never been in love before so how could I have known what to say?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Do the songs still hold the same meaning for you as they do for me?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The city sounds of never-ending traffic and chattering urban lives have reduced to a mere background buzzing. The wind blowing over the empty rooftop is devoid of the whiff of her perfume.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It stinks of concrete and sharp loneliness instead of carrying a sweet reminder of not being by myself. She used to come up here with me whenever we both needed a break, having a private moment away from the people in our lives.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spending some time in a world of our own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Lego House’ starts playing, cruelly reminding of the fact ours has been shattered and can’t be rebuilt. That I am here alone, swaggering directionless over the concrete after taking my headphones off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alone in the disquiet quietness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wandering among the ghosts of the moments we had here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My clumsy confession, stumbling over my words and barely daring to look her in the eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her equally awkward reciprocation, not being used to being loved in any other way than as a friend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Our first kiss, bumping noses and laughing the awkwardness off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nuzzling her afterwards in the little den we made, sharing a blanket and drinking pineapple juice throughout the year. Except in September, the month of pumpkin spice latte.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her favourite.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The faintest false whiff of the warm spice drifts on the wind, her phantom nipping at the hot drink a few steps away. Looking so peaceful, content and safe by herself, bundled up. It’s heart-wrenching, agonizingly twisting my guts until I’m nauseous with longing because I want to be there. In that moment, side by side, guarding her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In our world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, when I reach out to let my fingers slide over her cheek, she falls apart at the touch. Dispelled like a mirage, fading into nothingness like our love when I didn’t say enough to make her stay. Subtle and sometimes plain, she rejected me every time I tried to touch her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I left her alone too much. An idiotic thing to do, especially after curing my own success-tainted solitude via her. So here I am, still unable to repay the debt.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My fingertips haven’t brushed her skin since she left for her new safe haven. A place where there is no music to remind her of past pains.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Where are you? Are you still there or will I be lucky to find you somewhere else? I want to see you. Please.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I put the headphones on again, idiotically forgetting which playlist is playing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Maybe I’m just in love when you wake me up.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another memory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Babygirl, it’s morning. Hey, sleepyhead, wake up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I snap, the lingering embers of simmering rage and self-loathing flaming up now that the boiling point has been reached and making me lose it completely. All I can see, no, can remember is the vivid memory of an empty bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Our bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her side abandoned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every goddamned morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because I didn’t explain what was really going on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because I didn’t know this was the price for the time spent differently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because I wasn’t clear on the border between romance and friendship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because I didn’t pick the right songs anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because I didn’t say the right thing to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To the woman who really mattered and matters the most to me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I love you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Those three little words aren’t truly important in a relationship. The single one which does make a difference, I never said to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why the fuck didn’t I say anything? Why are you gone just as I learned what I should’ve said?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now she’s gone, whisked away by a man that can love her as she should be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was my whiskey and coffee girl. My fall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, autumn. To her, it is autumn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she remains my fall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is the loneliness of the damaged skateboard crash landing on the other side of the rooftop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alone is a destroyed world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thrown.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fallen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I put my headphones on again to shut everything out, change the playlist and get up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To swagger aimlessly over the roof like a hopeless wanderer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To fall to my knees like a remorseful sinner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fallen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next song starts to play.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sorry seems to be the hardest word.</span>
</p>
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